After the show, I take a poop into a zip-lock and put it in the fridge next to a used jar of mayonnaise and Mimi, the next-door neighbor’s dead Chihuahua. She’ll need to be used soon, before she spoils. I take a shower and wash myself with sandalwood-scented soap—voted the best smelling among women twenty-five to thirty-five—then brush my teeth and wash my mouth again. Before heading to bed, I shoot the kid I have chained up in the basement. 76% of women can be convinced that the sound of a gunshot was actually a car backfiring.
I JUST STARTED THIS. WTF is going on. Lmao
